


The Gilded Cage

by dreamsofdramione (Bugggghead)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Facebook: The Fairest of the Rare, Forest of Dean, Heavy Angst, Lost - Freeform, Magical mirror, Suspense, The Fairest of the Rare: Fairest Freaky Spooktacular, Thriller, Unhappy Ending, i'm only kind of sorry?, mentions of abuse, this one may hurt a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 07:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21222746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugggghead/pseuds/dreamsofdramione
Summary: Trapped in the Forest of Dean, Hermione stumbles across an ancient artifact that houses a familiar face from her not so distant past. While the wards seem impenetrable, is her heart?





	The Gilded Cage

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fairest of the Rare: Fairest Freaky Spooktacular
> 
> Winner: Best Use of Prompt  
Winner: Overall Favorite
> 
> This was an aesthetic prompted fest
> 
> Prompt:  

> 
> [Source](https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10103938838513228&set=oa.1178705582315633&type=3&theater)  
Created by [@WildflowerWeasley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildflowerWeasley/pseuds/WildflowerWeasley)
> 
> Title Graphic:  


Three paces left, eight right, then left again. No. Three paces right, then left, _ then _ eight right.

Hermione stopped, digging her heels into the mess of leaves littering the forest floor. Scanning the trees, she thought this section of the forest sure _ looked _ familiar. Their makeshift camp couldn't be that far away. She _ was _ outside the wards for the first time in their newest location, but she’d needed to gather some more wood for the campfire, and they’d exhausted the supply directly surrounding the tent.

Surely she couldn’t be lost.

The Forest of Dean was large, but she hadn’t been gone too long.

Vaguely, she remembered a tale her mother had told her in front of the fire one night as a child. Hansel and Gretel had left breadcrumbs to find their way back, and while food was in short supply and she couldn’t justify throwing any of it on the forest floor, the idea of leaving a trail of sorts had some merit to it. 

Reaching into the beaded bag that held far more than ten of them could without the extension charm, Hermione rooted around for anything she could use to mark the trees. A shimmer of magic danced across her skin and she shuddered. 

Tugging out an old shirt, Hermione set to ripping it into thin strips. Magic would certainly make the task easier, but with their ward protected camp somewhere out of sight, she didn’t want to chance an encounter that could later cost her her life by leaving her magical signature in the area. Hermione Jean Granger hadn’t survived thus far in a war that already had a mile-long list of casualties by being unnecessarily brash. 

Glancing around once more, she stopped in front of a nondescript tree. There had to be hundreds of them from where she stood, but it seemed as good a place as any to start. Counting the scraps of fabric in her hand, she realized a dozen may not be enough. With a heavy sigh, she walked a few paces to another tree. 

The sun, or what she could see of it through the tree cover, was dipping lower by the minute. Faint shadows painted the leaves scattered across the damp soil. 

She _ had _ to be back at camp before dark. Without the ability to light her way with even a simple _ Lumos, _Hermione would soon be helpless to the other magical creatures that were known to frequent these woods.

Or worse, snatchers. 

-

Only one strip of fabric remained clutched in her fist and she swore to herself she wouldn’t cry. 

Worse yet, she was almost sure she could see at least two trees ahead of her with the fabric already secured around the bark. 

One tear slipped, then two, sliding down her cheeks and cooling the trails they left in their wake with the soft autumn breeze sweeping through the trees. 

_ How was that possible? _

She’d walked straight the entire time, only momentarily moving when a trunk was directly in her way. Huffing out a frustrated groan, she turned around, gasping at the sight before her. Sure enough, all of the trees tied with the light blue fabric were in a straight line. They stretched as far as her eye could see. 

-

Twelve pieces of what was once an extra shirt stuffed in her bag laid amongst the crip leaves before her. Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve. Yep. They were all there. All piled together after being torn from the trees in a fit of rage. 

None of it made a lick of sense. Somehow, she must have stumbled into a part of the forest that was magically altered. Although she wasn’t entirely sure how yet, she’d gathered that this section was approximately fifty by fifty paces. Once she stepped just past the tall tree with only one visible brach lacing into another one right next to it, she found herself back at the far end of the space. Even stranger yet, transporting from one spot to another didn’t feel any different than simply walking in a circle. 

All in all, Hermione could see exactly one option to deal with her current situation: set up camp for the night and try locating the wards in the morning. The sun had long sunk below the horizon, a soft glow splashed between the shadows of the trees, and she could barely see past her own palm, much less anything noteworthy in the thick of the underbrush.

Reaching into her bag once more, Hermione deposited the scraps of fabric and pulled out a few linen sheets. If she could use her wands safely, she might have transfigured them into a makeshift tent, but past simple wards and a disillusionment charm, she didn’t dare try any magic in the foreign space. 

-

One day turned into two and the sun was setting on the little patch of land Hermione had no choice but to call her own. She’d screamed, she’d cried, she’d even tried to send a Patronus during a particularly low point only for it to bound back through the woods in an endless loop. Even her silvery otter couldn’t find its way out of this mess, and somehow that thought was enough for her Gryffindor courage to waiver. 

_ What if she never left this area again? What if she was stuck here until someone else wandered into the wards, too? Worse yet, what if no one ever did? _

Never one to wallow in her own unfortunate luck, Hermione pushed herself up to her feet and began walking the perimeter again. Strips of blue hung off a line of trees, turning at one point in a sharp angle to mark off the far corner of the area. Deciding the risk would be worth the reward, she pulled her wand and cast a soft _ Revelio _. The charm worked as it should, the area just beyond where she’d marked glowed faintly, revealing the far boundary of the wards. Leaves crunched under the toes of her muddy boots as she took a few more steps and cast again, then again, and again. 

By the time she made it back around to where she’d started, she’d walked in a large square. Spinning around to take stock of the boundary she found herself caged within, a spot of something golden glinted from under a pile of leaves only a few paces away. 

Bending to sweep away the brush, she gripped an ornate golden embellishment and pulled it from beneath the leaves. Turning the object over, Hermione furrowed her brow. It appeared to be an antique mirror, crested with golden filigree and far too shiny to have been there for long. Upon closer inspection, the mirror didn’t seem to be just that. While she could see trees in the image, they didn’t move when she tilted it side to side. Rather than reflecting the image in front of it, the mirror-like surface appeared to operate more like a window. Casting the charm once more, she swept her wand from side to side, looking for any other object hidden amongst the leaves where the mirror had just been. Nothing else turned up.

It was only a few paces to her shoddy camp. She’d given in the second night and unpacked more of her things, draping extra blankets over the sheets and reinforcing the makeshift walls to create a semi inhabitable space. Stepping through the curtain with the mirror still securely in her grip, Hermione sat down to study it. 

Weighing her options, she decided to withdraw her wand. Using it outside hadn’t had any unintended consequences, so she figured this was a safe enough space to utilize the magic thrumming through her veins. After nearly forty-eight hours with no real progress, finally having something tangible in her hands that seemed so wholly out of place felt an awful lot like promise. 

-

A frustrated sigh slipped past her parted lips. She’d been staring at the mirror for what felt like hours, but based on the darkening shadows and wisps of orange peeking through the trees, no more than a fraction of that could have passed. Trying her hardest to keep the tears from tracking down her cheeks, she tossed the mirror to the side. She wouldn’t cry. Not again. Even though the hot tears were laced with frustration instead of sadness, she felt defeated all the same.

With a few flicks of her wand, her camp reinforced itself. The thin sheets thickened and the haphazard pile of blankets she’d called a bed for two nights fluffed up into something that could pass as a mattress. Transfiguring a stump into a chair and a branch into a desk, she surveyed the area. It wasn’t comfortable, by any means, but it’d have to do.

For a single second, she allowed her mind to wander farther into the forest, thinking about her friends and how worried they must be. Leaving camp to gather firewood and disappearing for two days wasn’t her intention, but it wasn’t as though she’d asked for this either. A traitorous tear slid down one cheek, and just like that, the well she'd been holding in burst. Sobs racked her too thin frame and she cradled her face in her palms, letting the sheer impossibility of the situation wash over her. 

-

Something woke her early in the morning. 

One chirp. Then two.

It reminded her of the cottage she’d visit with her parents as a young girl every summer. Waking with the birds as the sun crept inch by inch into the sky had always been relaxing. Blinking away the sleep and rubbing her eyes, though, Hermione was suddenly on edge as she regained her wits.

Chirp.

No one had entered the area she found herself trapped within, but Hermione had still warded herself within the tent before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep the night before. Glancing from side to side, her pulse hammered in her ears and it was all she could do to suck in a deep breath. In an instant, her wand was at the ready, her feet planted firmly on the ground and she waited and waited for another noise. 

It was a long few moments of silence as she crept to the edge of the tent. Muttering a soft _ Homenum Revelio _ , Hermione pointed her wand just outside the barrier. Nothing showed. Once more she tried a simple _ Revelio _, but was again met with nothing. Taking down the wards, she stepped out into the clearing. It looked the same as it had the day before. Trees lined the area and a thick blanket of leaves crunched under the heel of her boots as she carefully studied the space between and behind each tree. 

Only then did she realize the reason the chirping bird felt so out of place. Craning her neck skyward, she studied the branches of the trees, the thick of the leaves, and the spaces in between. Nothing. No bird, no insect, not even a sign anything had lived there before. The sound felt out of place because it was. Somehow in the midst of her ire, Hermione hadn’t realized that nothing else lived in this little patch of thick woods. It was a monumental oversight on her part, something she should have taken note of days before. In her rush to establish the boundaries and search every square inch of the area, her own thoughts must have filled the deafening silence.

A small chirp sounded once more and she spun on her heel so quickly she nearly lost her balance. On shaking legs, she inched toward the camp again. It had come from within the confines of her tent, and that thought alone was enough to frighten her. Summoning every ounce of Gryffindor courage she could muster, she inched toward the tent. Slipping her wand behind a flap, she peeled it back and slipped inside. 

Nothing was out of place. No bird hopped around the confines of the space. Her bed was in the same state it had been just moments before and the transfigured furniture sat undisturbed. Kneeling down, she picked up the only thing that felt as though it held any meaning, and flipped it over to look into the shiny surface of the mirror. 

Right there, between the branches, just upfront sat a tiny bluebird. Running her finger over the smooth surface, it chirped once more, hopping around between the trees. 

_ Impossible. _

-

The mirror mocked her from its place on the makeshift desk. With the curtains of her tent peeled back, the golden glow from the frame shone impossibly bright in the early morning sun. She’d emptied some contents from her bag earlier, books and quills and a neat stack of parchment weighted down with a little glass paperweight. _ How fitting, _ she thought, a delicate little glass bird stared at her with see-through eyes from its perch atop the parchment. 

Stacks of books pulled from her beaded bag sat precariously on the edges of the desk. Flipping through the pages, she stopped when one soft chirp turned into a melody, a sad song sung from the puffed-up little chest. It was calling for something, possibly someone, but there were no answering sounds. Hermione found herself transfixed with the picture before her, sliding her finger along the surface and ruminating on just how alike they really were. Trapped. Alone. Calling out for someone who couldn’t hear them. She felt a strange sort of bond with the little bluebird. 

A flash of something dark in the background of the picture caused her to gasp. Covering her mouth with both hands, she held her breath as it moved through the thick of the trees. Shaded in shadows from the canopy above, a figure—no, a _ person _—moved toward the front of the frame. Lean limbs swayed with each step and Hermione felt her eyes widen at the scene. 

“Shut up!” The thickness in the strange voice caught her off guard. It sounded vaguely familiar yet wholly unexpected. She still couldn’t see their face, but surmised it was a man of some sort by the sheer height of the shadow stalking closer to the bird. 

She was torn. Did she duck out of the frame and hide herself from whoever was on the other side? Or did she say something to reveal herself and hope they would help?

Could it be the person who trapped her here to begin with?

The indecision cost her the right to choose when chiseled cheeks and a nest of unkempt dark hair came into view. The man looked young, no more than a few years give or take from her own age. He was tall, lean, clad in something she had definitely not expected. The stark white of the dress shirt under the perfectly pressed suit looked out of place in the wooded background.

“Shut up!” This time it was practically a growl. Watching in rapt fascination, she saw his hands wrap around the think trunk of a tree and shake it. The bird hopped off the branch, spread its wings wide and swooped out of view.

“Hey!” she called, unable to stay silent a moment longer. Her irrational attachment to the mystery bird and classic penchant for defending those who couldn’t do so themselves were to blame for her outburst. “He didn’t do anything to you!”

A head whipped forward. Two long strides and a face filled the magic mirror. In a perfect reflection of what she felt her own features doing, his eyes went wide and his brows crawled up the smooth skin of his forehead.

“Granger?”

She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even speak a single word as she cataloged the features of the barely familiar face. A slow dip of her chin was all she could muster as she took in the sight before her.

It was someone she knew, alright.

Someone she’d gone to school with for years.

Someone she knew for a fact was not on the Order’s side.

None other than Theodore Nott stared back at her through the shiny surface and Hermione felt as though her heart might pound right out of her chest, the erratic beats kicking her survival instincts into overdrive.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Even his voice now slotted into a familiar place in her mind. She’d heard it in the halls, in her classes from time to time when her excited hand had not been the first called on in class. 

Dropping the mirror flat on the desk, Hermione pushed back from the rickety desk and rose to her feet. She gulped in a few breaths. Muttering a quiet_ Silencio _, she stepped back a few more feet, knees knocking into the mattress before she crashed on her bum. 

It was truly terrifying, being trapped in a small space with no knowledge of when it would end or how to break the spell she’d someone wandered within. Even worse, to find the one thing she felt could possibly be helpful actually held the image of someone loyal to the opposing side. She’d heard the term stuck between a rock and a hard place before, but currently stuck between wards and a mirror seemed infinitely worse. 

_ Why was he here? How did he get here? Did he put her here, too? _

Tucking her wand along her side, she decided there was only one way to deal with the current situation: facing it head-on—or rather, face to reflective face.

Taking a seat astride the chair once more, she slowly lifted the mirror only to see his mouth moving without a single sound coming through. A quick _ Finite _later, and part of her wished she’d kept him silenced.

“Get me out of here now, Granger! I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing or how you found me, but let me the fuck out!”

If he thought she had any idea how to get out, she must truly be hopeless. 

“Nott.” One whispered word, his name, and she felt all the air leave her lungs. “Where exactly is ‘here?’ Where are we?”

“What do you mean where are we? You tell me!”

“I don’t - I don’t know.” Her voice was small, a quiet plea against the silence surrounding them. Neither spoke for a long moment, staring at each other with equal disbelief. 

It all felt hopeless in that moment, neither party knowing where they were, or more important, how to escape. Then, unbidden, a dam broke inside of her and the words rushed out. “I was collecting wood from the forest and came across the clearing. Somehow I was trapped here and haven’t found a way out. I’ve found the wards but they can’t be dismantled and even my Patronus couldn’t find a way out with a message. I only found your mirror yesterday. Where are _ you _, and how did you get there? Wait - rather, how long have you been there, Nott?” She wasn’t even sure she wanted the answer.

“I - I don’t know.”

Lips quivering, she nodded. She’d surmised as much already, but hearing his own sense of hopelessness opened up a cavity in her chest, giving way to a sinking feeling of realization. 

-

As weary as she’d been at first, by the end of the day, Hermione found herself appreciating another voice to fill the void of silence she’d steeped in for the last few days. Theo, as he’d insisted she call him earlier with a Slytherin smirk twisted on his lips, wasn’t sure how he’d wound up on the other side of the mirror. He didn’t know where he was or when he was placed there, so his own information wasn’t much help. 

They’d devised a system of sorts. The piles of books were split into halves and as Hermione flipped through the pages of one, she slowly turned the pages of another propped up in front of the mirror. He may not have been able to physically interact with anything, but his eyes still worked, and she firmly believed two heads were better than one when untangling the web of mysteries surrounding their current circumstances. Especially when, upon reading through their third books, his insight and familiarity with pureblood curses came in handy deciphering a case she’d stumbled upon. It detailed an ancestor of the House of Black who was put into a painting while still very much alive. While it certainly wasn’t the same curse Theo found himself subject to, it was a lead nonetheless. They’d narrowed it down to a curse of sorts. A simple charm would’ve been easier to deal with, but the depths of the facade they were both currently living in, and the complexity of their individual entrapments pointed to a powerful curse. 

“No, it says here it had to do with a cursed object linked to the frame.” Hermione’s finger jammed a line in the book as she held it up for Theo to inspect. Reciting it from the page, she read, “Cygnus Black cursed his wife’s paintbrush to entomb her in the elaborate portrait hanging on the wall in their sitting room. Many suspected infidelity as the motivation behind such an act. When Violetta Black née Flint picked up the brush, it acted as a conduit to the scene depicted in the frame. While the painting was never recovered, many believe it to have burned at the hand of her husband.”

“Bollocks.”

“Excuse me?” The book smacked down on the desk and Hermione eyed Theo for his outburst. “It’s written right there, Theodore—”

“—Don’t call me that.” 

The edge in his voice caught her off guard. Granted she hadn’t been speaking with him long, and any sort of familiarity with the tone of his voice was long gone, lost amongst the memories of the times that had passed, but the way his timber boomed in the scant space made her breath hitch. 

A moment passed and neither of them spoke, simply staring at one another in some sort of silent standoff. 

“I asked you nicely, Granger, to call me Theo, yet somehow you insist on using my given name.”

“I didn’t—”

He lifted his hand toward the surface of the mirror and Hermione promptly snapped her mouth shut, observing the way his jaw clenched. “Theodore Nott is my father. I have no interest in being associated with him or his legacy. So, moving forward, Theo is my preferred name, understood?”

Not one to back down, Hermione weighed her options. While she didn’t care to be spoken to in such a manner, she also realized the weight of his words as they hung in the air between them. “Alright. I apologize, Theo. I won’t call you by your given name again.”

“Thank you, Hermione.” His lips twitched, curving ever so slightly at the edges and the playful demeanor was back again. Just like that, she blew out a breath and resumed her earlier train of thought, trying, yet failing, not to linger on the way her own given name slipped from between his lips. It sounded almost like a purr, a low mumbling of syllables that should have sounded sloppy yet came across as smooth. “So, we aren’t dealing with this particular curse, but there may be something to the idea of a cursed object. Did you touch anything unusual before you wound up trapped in there?”

Hermione thought it over for a long moment. Did she touch anything? A branch? A stick? Maybe something else entirely? She must have been silent for a beat too long, lost in her own thoughts, because the next thing she knew, a soft rumble of laughter filtered through the glass mirror. “You’re cute when you do that, you know?”

“What?” she squeaked. Her voice was too high pitched, the word pinched and pulled from her throat. 

Being called ‘cute’ wasn’t exactly new, she’d been approached by a few wizards in her day. Victor had come on to her hard and fast, sweeping her up in a whirlwind romance like that of a novel. Cormac had been entirely different, stumbling and fumbling his way into a date that she wished she could forget. And then there was Ron, the redhead somewhere in the same forest who she’d been dancing around for what felt like a decade. While he hadn’t ever come out and complimented her in such a blatant manner, he still paid her compliments in his own way. Asking for her help with homework was his way of saying he liked her intelligence. Asking her opinion on a date with Lavender was, albeit a bad attempt, but an attempt nonetheless to show her he valued what she had to say. None of them, however, had ever come right out and smiled at her with that twisting little smirk and called her _ ‘cute.’ _

“I said,” he leaned toward the glass and Hermione felt herself mirroring his stance, her elbows resting on the wood as she craned toward the thin surface, “you’re cute when you do that. The whole ‘lost in thought’ thing. Your lips do this thing and your eyes go wide with wonder. I like it.”

A strange fluttering started in her belly, but she tamped it down and cleared her throat. “Thank you.” What else could she say? A compliment from a wizard she’d be blind not to notice wasn’t something she got every day and it _ was _rather nice, if not entirely inappropriate for their current situation.

“So as I was saying…”

-

They worked well past dusk, well past dinner, which neither ate, and into the night. Soft lights twinkled from leaves transfigured into glasses, flameless candle-like sticks floating in the air to illuminate the room. She’d given up being wary of using magic, guessing no one could find her anyway, and if they did now because of her magical signature, it would be a welcome reprieve. 

Closing the cover on the final book in her stack, Hermione cradled her head in her hands and let out a long sigh. “None of these are any help.”

“Really, Granger, giving up already? I thought you were the brains of the golden trio. The Golden Girl herself.”

She huffed out a laugh. “I hate that nickname.”

Turning to look at him in the reflection, she was struck by just how dark it was in his fame. The only light she could make out was the flash of her own flicking candles against the planes of his face. He was close to the mirror now, nearly too close, and she could tell he was leaning back against a tree, the hint of a thumb at the corner of her view signaled he was holding the mirror up to face. A wave of sympathy washed over her at the sight. At least she had her wand and a tent that was about as comfortable as she could hope for given the circumstances. It didn’t appear he had any creature comforts except the glow from the mirror to illuminate his side of the frame. 

“I think it’s rather fitting. Why, you practically glow from my vantage point.”

This time she actually chuckled, between the snarky remark and the way his lips pressed together, angling just so into the softest smile, she could swear he was flirting with her. _ Nonsense. You’re simply the only company he has in this Merlin forsaken place. _

“That’s the candles, Theo.”

“Doubtful, Hermione.”

A strange sort of heat crawled up her cheeks and she was suddenly thankful for the cover of darkness. It wouldn’t do for Theo Nott to know he’d made her blush. Based on their recent history, it may just egg him on and she was certainly not ready for that. 

-

Days passed in anything but silence. They talked nearly nonstop if for nothing other than to hear a now familiar voice. They’d tossed ideas back and forth, zoning in on the onset of the curse, but had made no tangible progress. They’d poured over the texts three times each and rattled off every curse they knew between the two of them. None of it lead to a single solid lead and Hermione was trying her hardest not to lose hope.

If it hadn’t been for his banter and the way his occasional flirtation had made her feel, she may have considered it all some strange, twisted dream. But alas, she knew it was not, even going so far as to pinch herself just to make sure. While it was all some sort of elaborate ruse, it was still very real, and still left them both very much trapped. 

“We’ve deduced that on my end no cursed object was used, we haven’t talked much about what brought you here.” She was laying flat on her bed, swinging one leg over the side and holding the mirror up above her. 

“I don’t remember much. One minute I was arguing with my father, planning to renounce my name and all the negative things that went with it, and the next I was here.”

Hermione bolted up, nearly knocking her head on the ornate golden frame. “And you’re only just _ now _ telling me this?” The panic in her voice must have roused something within him because his brow furrowed as he pressed his lips together. 

She’d tried her hardest not to notice the perfect bow of his lips, the pillowy texture that was turning white from his current state, but she failed miserably. Over the last few days, with only texts and his too handsome face to stare at, she’d found herself memorizing the lines of his features. His lips were her favorite, followed closely by the expressive hazel eyes. The pensive look currently painting his features did unfair things to her, and try as she might, she simply couldn’t ignore the fact that Theo Nott was more than just plain handsome. He had a timeless quality to his features, a look that begged to be painted by someone far more artistic than she. 

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

Despite how adorable he looked with confusion written plainly across his face, Hermione groaned and dropped the mirror on the bed. “_ Everything _ is relevant, Theo! Especially the details of the last time you remember being free!”

“Slow down. It’s not like he cursed me right then. I would have felt something. He didn’t even have his wand for Godric’s sake. I accoi’d it before the shouting match. Furthermore, I wasn’t touching anything. I was standing in the drawing room and arguing. _ Hermione _ . _ Hermione _! Calm down! I can see you rushing around the background and I wish you’d just come back and talk to me for a minute.”

He was right, she was rushing, pushing the books across her desk until she came upon the one she thought she’d practically memorized by now - _ The Darkest Arts. _ Flipping through the pages, her finger landed on a crude drawing of what Muggles might call a magic circle. It wasn’t common practice anymore, and hadn’t been in quite some time, but neither was whatever magic had transported him into the mirror still laying on her bed. 

Holding up the book, Hermione pointed out the image. “Do you remember seeing anything like this?”

Theo shook his head and all the hope that she’d allowed to bubble to the surface slowly simmered away. “Well, well, well maybe it was too dark or - or - or maybe it was covered up.” She could feel the frantic energy fraying her nerves. It felt right, but he didn’t seem quite convinced.

“Hermione, love, there was nothing drawn on the floor or anything around us. I’m sorry.”

Pursing her lips, Hermione fingered the edge of the book. “But maybe—”

“Listen, I know you want to figure this out, and trust me I do, too.” He paused and the book dropped to the table. Hermione hung her head, cupping her face in her hands.”Maybe… Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong.”

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream or cry or maybe both. It felt like they’d looked at it from every plausible angle just to come right back to the conclusion that none of it made a lick of bloody sense. 

“Then tell me, Theo, how should we look at it?”

-

As it turned out, his idea wasn’t half bad. If they couldn’t figure out how they’d both been transported into their respective magical cages, maybe they could focus on how to get out. It seemed backward, and truthfully, it was, but she was willing to try anything. If being the best friend of the Boy Who Lived had taught her anything, it was that magic wasn’t necessarily linear and even if one knew the onset, the outcome wasn’t always clear.

“So you think the mirror itself is enchanted and if we can somehow break the divide, my broad shoulders would slip right through this tiny little thing?”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. “Not exactly. I _ mean _ if we can somehow breach the divide between your area and mine, it may break the spell that’s holding us both here. It’s strange to me that we’re _ both _ locked away in some unknown place, and considering we have next to no real common enemies here, I’d have to guess that your mirror was in this enchanted place for a reason. Whoever put you there, Theo, didn’t just want you trapped, they wanted you trapped _ and _ hidden, which seems a bit far fetched.”

“You don’t know my father then.” His voice was low, his head bent and Hermione wanted nothing more than to reach through the golden frame and lay a comforting hand on his. While her family was anything but the cruel picture he’d painted, they didn’t even know who she was at the moment. 

“Do you really think he’d do this to you?”

When Theo looked up, she was struck by the dip of his lips, the tug of a frown forming where she’d only seen playful quirks before. “I do. I haven’t told many people this before, and honestly, it doesn’t make any difference right now, but I was raised with a very specific set of ideals. Generations of Notts have served the darkness. My father, his father before him, and even further back, we’ve always been poisoned from birth. Our line is pure for a reason, and every ancestor I’ve had on either side saw fit to carry on that tradition. The first time I met a Muggle and told my father they didn’t seem too bad, he made sure I remembered exactly how it felt to be ‘wrong’ in his eyes. I still have the scars, among many, many others, but I learned rather quickly to keep my mouth shut. 

"You see, Hermione, the thing about letting myself live in the background is that my silence afforded me time to watch everything around me. Listening allowed me to hear what people were saying and take in all the information to digest and process on my own. I read Muggle literature in the library while at school and even spent a summer in a Muggle village while my father was busy swearing his loyalty to the Dark Lord.”

“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t much of a consolation. Gods, it wasn’t even comforting to her own ears but she didn’t know what else to say in that moment. He looked broken, beaten down by a society she now knew he never felt like he truly fit in. She could only imagine growing up, having the Pureblood agenda quite literally beaten into him from a young age. 

“I haven’t — I don’t — I just need you to know that I haven’t thought that way for a long time.” The words were rushed, spit out in a huff and she couldn’t help but find his candor endearing.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. I mean, I knew that, but hearing it… I just… thank you.”

He didn’t say anything else on the matter, and despite the words dancing on the tip of her tongue, she didn’t either. It was a shared secret in the darkness of the night, whispered words she’d never forget.

Sucking in a breath, Hermione smoothed her palms against her jeans and collected her thoughts. “So, we know that these two places are linked somehow. We know that we’re warded well enough that our magical signatures can’t be picked up and we know that, at the very least, _ you _were put here intentionally.”

“Sounds about right. Now tell me, what has that magical brain of yours cooked up now?” And just like he hadn’t spilled one of his darkest secrets, the twist of his lips and playful glint in his eyes had her focused once more on the task at hand.

-

“Have you seen the bird lately?”

Only the soft light of the nearly full moon filtered through the sheet, bathing the tent in an ethereal glow. Shifting onto her side, Hermione placed the mirror on her transfigured pillow and stared at the glassy surface. In the dark, she could barely see the outline of his tousled locks, only the shimmer of the reflection lighting his eyes every once in a while.

“No. I haven’t even heard it chirp.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, her eyes fluttering shut as she yawned. “Do you think that means something?”

“I think everything means something.”

“Me too.” It was barely intelligible, mumbled between yawns. In her sleepy daze, she didn’t even see the smile that crept across his cheeks as her lids slid shut and she gave in to her own exhaustion.

-

Grateful for the cover of darkness, Hermione steeped in the silence stretching between them, trying not to dwell on all the what-ifs of another life entirely. She heard him sigh and found herself wishing she’d given him a second glance during their Hogwarts days. Maybe if things had been different they would have studied together in the library, trading halfhearted jabs about house rivalries. Maybe they would have been friends. Maybe even more. 

“I wish I would have gotten to know you back in school.” She wasn’t even sure she’d said it until it hung thick in the air between their breaths. 

“Me, too. I wish I had shown you that I’m not just my family name. Although, I’m not even sure I’m _ that _ anymore.”

“Theo,” she began, unsure if she even had the strength to listen to him profess whatever was on the tip of his tongue. 

“No… just… let me finish this. I wish we had spent time together before this... this… sick joke of a life I’ve lead and I just want you to know that no matter what happens, you’re fighting for a noble cause. You’re brave, Hermione Granger. Even braver than Potter in my eyes, and I wish I’d had an ounce of your Gryffindor courage back when it mattered.” He paused, but she had no idea what to say. “I just needed to say it, at least once, because you deserve to know your own worth and know that someone else believes in you. I know you have the other two-thirds of your trio and all, but just know, you have me now, too.”

“Theo, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything. In fact, I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t. But you’re going to win this war. You and the Order and even Potter himself will win this war because you _ have _ to. People like me, people all over the Wizarding World _ need _ you to win this.”

“We will.” It was automatic, an ingrained response because she was too stubborn to believe otherwise. 

-

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

Hermione stomped across the clearing, mirror in hand and a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt in what seemed to be ages. “Well, we haven’t tried it yet, so it’s worth a shot. I don’t hear you coming up with a plan.”

Approaching a tree with the fabric still secured around the trunk, Hermione took a minute to gather her thoughts. Slipping her wand from its holster, she muttered a spell and a fine golden light shimmered from the tip. Holding up the mirror, it wrapped between the ornate filigree and coated every inch. Just as quickly as it began, though, the glow started to fade. 

She walked forward a step and held the mirror out to where she knew the edge of the ward was, but nothing happened. They’d read each of the books so many times she could comfortably recite them by heart, switching selections and comparing notes each time. On their last pass through, however, something had piqued her interest. 

In one of the handwritten journals she’d snagged from Grimmauld place, the grandson of the woman who had been trapped in the painting had scribbled some notes about a binding spell. While it hadn’t seemed to mean much initially, buried between pages and pages of original spells, the object he’d planned to bind himself to tipped her off. It was something metal and large, a shoddy drawing of what she originally thought was a table but now guessed was the painting itself.

“Hmmm…” Tapping her foot, Hermione tried again. This time, with a slight alteration to the wand movement, a swish instead of a flick at the end, the same golden glow flowed from the end of her wand, but it seemed to be a shade deeper. Hoping against hope that it might take hold, she held her breath as the magic wrapped around the golden frame once more. It seemed to sink into the shiny surface this time instead of pooling at the top and she watched with wide eyes as Theo reached out to touch the shimmering tendril of magic that had broken through the surface. 

One second it was whole, a smooth plane held between the cool metal, the next it was cracking, snapping inch by inch in her hands. “Theo! Theo, get back. What if this - what if it doesn’t—” but she didn’t get to finish her sentence, dropping the mirror as it shattered to pieces in the palm of her hand. It broke into shards so small they began to float away like dust. She screamed his name until her voice was hoarse, sucking in gulps of air between broken sobs.

-

Her knees ached, her hands were filthy, and she couldn’t even find the energy to stand up. Hermione cried until she was sure she didn’t have a single tear left. Just like that, he was gone, but instead of breaking through the barrier, the spell had eviscerated him as though he’d never been there. The clearing was still, bits of dust piled on the dead leaves covering the ground was all she had left. 

She’d never even told him how she felt about his confession. She’d never told him about the dreams she’d wake from with a smile. The dreams of days spent in the stacks with her hands in his hair and his breath in her lungs. It’d simply been a dream, one she knew now was far too painful to entertain when the reality of the situation was a weight she didn’t feel she could bear. 

-

The last time never feels like the end. If only she'd known, if only she'd _ thought _it would've been the last time, she would've said something witty or charming. She would've told him how she felt. She would've memorized the tilt of his lips and texture of his laugh. She would have taken the time to remember it all, remember him in the way he deserved. But it didn't feel like the end, and maybe that's why it ached down to the very marrow of her bones.

-

It had been three days. Three whole days since the disappearance of the mirror and nothing had changed. She hadn’t even realized how much Theo had come to mean to her in their short time together until all she had left was the echo of his memory. 

A small sound snapped her to attention, but it certainly couldn’t be.

One chirp. Then two.

“You’re Hermione Jean Granger and you _ will _ find a way out of this.” Her mother had taught her the value of a good old fashioned pep talk, and after wallowing in the depths of her own despair, she needed all the encouragement she could get.

A little bluebird hopped from branch to branch above her, silent save for the random chirp. Theo’s words came back to her - _ everything means something. _ With a renewed sense of resolve, she set out to study what little she had. She _ was _ Hermione Jean Granger, Brightest Witch of her Age, and she would find her way out of this mess.

-

She scoured the journal over and over again, trying the spell on her own wards and failing miserably every single time. A rouge idea popped into her mind and just as she did every time, she tried to tamp down the smallest sliver of hope, unable to bear it if this, too, resulted in the same fruitless outcome. Theo had been tethered to the mirror, his image locked within the confines of the golden cage. It stood to reason that she, too, was tethered to her space by something tangible. If the prison within the prison was destroyed, the only question left was what bound her to her own cage initially. 

Thinking back to the day in question, the same one she’d replayed over and over again in her head, Hermione recounted every single step. 

She’d been wandering, looking for wood, digging in her bag when —

_ Everything means something. _

A spark of what might possibly be insanity lit a fire in her mind and she rushed over to her camp and pushed everything she had sprawled across the desk back into the impossibly small opening of her bag. Stomping back over to the line of trees still marked off with now faded fabric, she clutched the little glass ornament in the palm of her hand and prayed to any of the gods willing to listen for this to _ please, please work. _

Muttering the same incantation that had ended Theo’s own imprisonment, she watched the little golden stream bathe the bird in a soft glow.

-

Everything was too bright. Her head was pounding and her stomach roiled as she pried her eyes open. 

“Hermione?” The voice was tentative, a question spoken from strange lips she didn’t recognize at first. There was no trademark bow, and the silhouette of the dark haired shadow didn’t look quite right, either. “Hermione, can you hear me?”

“Y-yes.” Her voice curved around the word, hoarse from disuse and thick on her tongue. 

“It’s Harry. We found you and apparated to St. Mungo’s. You were in rough shape: half starved and passed out on the forest floor with a dark artifact in your hand. The healers still don’t understand what happened. Do you remember anything at all?”

She went to shake her head, but stopped, thinking back on a pair of hazel eyes and the lilt of a silken voice teasing her. 

-

The war only lasted another month. Harry faced Voldemort in a showdown that she was sure would be told time and time again in every wizarding text about the dark era. She’d still been in hospital at the time, a dark curse still thrumming through her veins. It had taken them two months to break it, an ancient magic rooted deep in her core that had to be pulled out tendril by tendril, unwound and disposed of a little at a time. 

According to Healer Stroud, it should have exhausted her magical reserves within hours of taking hold, but with a proud gilt in his eye, he’d said she’d _ ‘beaten the odds’. _ Despite the well wishes and relief everyone expressed, she couldn’t muster even a drop of excitement for herself. 

-

Mud seeped through the thick jean covering her knees as she sucked in a shaky breath. Tracing the sharp lines of the granite, she lingered over each of the four letters. 

T-H-E-O 

Only she knew it was there, placed by the Black Lake on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. 

She’d spent the past six months researching what had brought them together. According to what the investigation of her time within the wards discovered, the little glass bluebird she’d picked up on a whim from Grimmauld was actually an old family heirloom. It was imbued with a dark magical core that had helped her breach the fresh wards. They’d said it was typical — old Pureblood families taking seemingly meaningless objects and turning them into magical conduits. She must have touched it when she’d entered the woods.

As it turned out, there was a magic circle of sorts drawn on the grounds surrounding Nott Manor. The entire house was condemned and warded by Aurors after the dark magic radiating from the manor had been determined to be too powerful. They’d said it had sunk into the very foundation of the old home and acted as a conduit of sorts for too many nefarious possibilities. 

She’d snuck in once, of course, if only to go to Theo’s room to find what remained of the boy she’d barely known. A Slytherin scarf now sat at the bottom of her drawer, a few books with his notes in the margins also sat on her self. But past those simple items, there hadn’t been much to take away. 

In the study, she’d found his wand, broken in half and tossed to the side.

That’s what she’d buried beneath the tiny headstone. 

His wand had actually surprised her. With a dragon heartstring core and the alderwood coating, she’d found it fit him in the strangest possible way.

The four letters adorning the plaque could never contain the sheer volume of who she knew Theo to be, but adding his surname just didn’t feel right. Because in her mind, and in her heart, she didn’t know him as Thedore Nott, Jr. She knew him as Theo, and nothing else seemed to fit.

The dip of earth she now knew too well welcomed her as she laid down beside the stone. It was a well-worn patch she’d put to good use over the last few months. Shadows stretched across the glassy surface of the lake as the sun began to sink below the trees. 

It all felt too familiar: the damp ground, the sound of leaves swaying in the breeze, the way the forest painted lines of trunks across the still water. 

It made her miss him. Though, most things did. 

One chirp. Then two.

And although it still hurt, the reminder of where they once were and what might have been, the sound of a bird chirping in the distance felt the tiniest bit like hope. Because at one point in her life, it had only been the beginning. 

**Author's Note:**

> Huge, huge thanks to [@mcal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/pseuds/mcal) for being such a lovely alpha and cheerleading me throughout this process. Beta love to [@MrsRen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen) for giving this a second set of eyes. Thanks, as well, to [@msmerlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmerlin/pseuds/msmerlin) for coming in clutch and helping me with a summary! (How I can write an entire fic and not come up with two lines to summarize it is INSANE, but it's a real problem.)
> 
> **A few short notes about Theo's wand (because I'm a sucker for wand lore and spent WAY too long looking into this) **  
__  
The ideal owner of Alder wand is not stubborn or obstinate, but often helpful, considerate and most likeable.
> 
> Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord
> 
> This was my first time playing with this ship and I hope I did it justice!
> 
> Come find me on tumblr [@dreamsofdramione](https://dreamsofdramione.tumblr.com)!
> 
> As always, thank you SO much for reading. Comments & kudos **always** appreciated!


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